


The Last Night That All Lived

by Freerangeegghead



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:09:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freerangeegghead/pseuds/Freerangeegghead





	1. Chapter 1

**_Summary_** : In which Alex Vause and Piper Chapman and the rest of Litchfield get caught in the middle of a prison riot. Mentions of canon (Seasons 1-6). Slight AU.

 ** _Pairing:_** Alex Vause/Piper Chapman

 ** _TV Show_** : Orange is the New Black

 ** _Rating:_** Rated T ~ M. Themes, no smut.

 ** _Warnings/Spoilers_** : Femslash. Mentions of canon from Seasons 1 to 6, not entirely canon compliant. A/U. Some plot points and characters not mentioned/ignored. Some OC.

 ** _Disclaimer_** : Nothing owned, nothing gained, prose all author’s.

 ** _Author’s note:_** Wrote this before, took it down, uploading it again, because Season 6.

* * *

 

This is the part Lt. Jackson Spacey really hates:

The part where people wonder about her name.

She hates that it inevitably starts stupid, unnecessary conversations starting with "Oh, I thought you were..." and people trailing off, leaving the unfinished sentence hanging in the air, like it's her fault she was named the way she was. Every time people meet her for the first time they have a look - like she never quite lived up to expectations. Or like they can’t quite _get_ her. Her father certainly expected her to be more. Like, be born a man for example. No use crying over spilt milk though. Her parents took one look at her and decided she would get a boy's name and a life that was not going to be about pink dresses and debutante parties and proms and homecoming parties. No rainbows and unicorns for her. Her father takes her out duck hunting first time she's allowed to handle a rifle, starts shooting arrows out of bows, starts taekwondo classes at a young age, so that by the time she hits puberty she can hit targets miles away, slams people three times her size on the mat, stare down people much bigger than she is. She was like any angry, rebellious teenager growing up, but she had an outlet and she channeled all that anger, all the way to police academy and her surly, no-nonsense attitude has earned her the grudging respect of fellow cops and the distinction of being one of the top negotiators of the city, hell, probably the state. Which also makes her perfect for taking on this new case at Litchfield, the way the Mayor's Deputy says it. So yeah, maybe she has to tear herself from her own domestic drama - her girlfriend, Paula, has locked herself in the bathroom again and she could still hear Ayisha, her girlfriend's daughter, laughing, pointing out to Spacey, "Some top negotiator you are... Can't even get mom out of the bathroom." Spacey tries to give her her most murderous look, but Ayisha has a twinkle in her eye as she says this and they both burst out snickering. This does not go down well with Paula. She gets the call from the Deputy Mayor in the middle of it all and had to leave a hasty, apologetic message for her girlfriend.

"What we got?" She asks one of the police officers standing near by the minute she gets out of her black sedan, hastily grabbing her bulletproof vest, checking to see if her gun is loaded, putting her NYC cap on. As she speaks white puffs of air come out, realizes it's freezing cold, notices the snow beginning to fall hard and fast. She shivers in her coat.  She remembers the weather forecast - they were going to have a tough one tonight. It’s afternoon, but it already feels like dusk. Smells like it, too. Already dark, angry clouds have formed in the sky. Air frosty and freezing. _Fuck_ , she tells herself. _Fuck New York winter seriously_. She loves this job but fuck hostage dramas  right before Christmas Eve. The thing she hates more than anything else: unconfirmed hostage situations and possible hostage negotiation the night before Christmas Eve, freezing her ass off behind police lines, missing Christmas dinner with Ayisha and Paula.

"Sir...I mean ma'am, some inmates staged a riot today," the boy stumbles, barely out of his 20s, dutifully reports. He looks solemn as he says, shivering as he does so. She doesn't miss the fleeting look of surprise on his face as he looks at her caramel skin, her almond shaped hazel eyes, her small, muscled physique, her curly, auburn hair. She's been told numerous times, by Paula and most other people that half of the time she looks like she could have stepped out of a magazine. She scowls at the officer now.

"Anybody hurt?"

He shakes his head.

"What's your name?"

"Humphrey."

Spacey makes a face but stops herself from asking why any sane parent would call their child Humphrey. She asks before she can stop herself. "Lt. Spacey. Hostage negotiator...."

"Yeah we know, we..."

Spacey gives him a dismissive hand. She stops just in front of the entrance, surveys the scene in front of her, flashing police car lights, cops hanging about talking on their walkie talkies, some civilians and curious onlookers huddled a few meters from the parking lot, steady snow giving the landscape a pristine look - almost as if giving Litchfield a non-threatening,peaceful look, like the seemingly harmless buildings do not harbor convicted female felons. They underestimated them, she thinks. Because they're women and it's not max and what could a bunch of premenstrual women do? She can already see it in the looks of the bored cops surrounding the scene. They just want this over and done with so they can go home and watch some holiday special or some Lifetime movie or watch some game on ESPN or some such shit. Containment, negotiation – these words come to her mind as automatically as breathing, her instructor from long ago calmly explaining what to do in hostage situations. Her goal is to resolve this crisis without any loss of life – cops or inmates or civilians. Nobody knows how long the crisis has been going on. They’d called her the minute they found out the inmates had rioted and had barricaded the prison. The first 15 to 45 minutes is crucial, she knows, but it’s anyone’s best guess how long the crisis had been going on before she got called. She makes a face – incompetence at its best. That window of time has been lost. Inmates are a loose group, she knows. They’re not as organized nor as goal-oriented or ideologically inclined. A situation like this could be easily diffused. She’s seen it before. She could already hear her instructor emphasizing the importance of show of force when a prison riot and a hostage situation occurs. But what happens if it’s a prison full of female inmates? These could be someone’s mother or sister or daughter…

She turns to Humphrey. "How many inmates do we have in there?"

Humphrey shakes his head and shrugs.

"Where are the COs? Can we confirm if they have hostages?"

Humphrey shakes his head. Nobody else volunteers an answer.

She curses under her breath. Resists the urge to lose her temper. _Amateurs_. "Alright, listen up, til I know what's actually going on, nobody goes in or out without my say so." She turns to Humphrey. "You. I want a phone, now. And the contact number for Litchfield. I want files on all the inmates in there and the COs, too. I want a head count."

"Excuse me ma'am but how exactly do we do that?" Humphrey asks.

Spacey turns and glares at him. It shuts him up and he backs away muttering about calling the DOC.

A voice from behind her speaks up. "With all due respect, these inmates are out of control, we need to storm in right now and disarm them. They've probably hurt some of my men right now..."

She turns to the man irritatedly, looks up and down the towering bulk of a man, and fixes him with a frosty glare. "I'm sorry, and you are...?"

"Piscatella, I'm one of the COs here..."

Spacey cuts him off. "Pistachio, you're not in charge here anymore. I am. And if you ever tell me again what to do, I will have you arrested for obstruction of justice and a whole lot of other crap starting with the fact that this happened under your watch. So what you can do now is slowly back away, stick a thumb in your mouth and pray I don't lock you up."

Piscatella stands, surprised, and Spacey isn't sure if she saw him flinch for a second, but he soon recovers enough to plaster a smirk on his face, gives her a hard glare and backs off.

Spacey has already forgotten him. "And can somebody _please_ get me some a coffee? Thank you."

* * *

In a few hours, Spacey has had Litchfield cordoned off, instigated a media black out, got a no-fly zone over Litchfield for possible media journalists with access to choppers and drones, had the police keep the onlookers a good few meters back. She's warned the cops if any of this even so much as gets out to the media, especially social media, heads will roll. She highly doubts they'll be able to keep a lid on this, but the equally diminutive and tough deputy mayor has quickly put together a team of media specialists tasked to track media coverage. So far, there has mercifully been none. It's not just the mayor's ass on the line she knows. It's the governor's, it's the DOC officials, it's the DOJ's, it's the D.A.'s and some other politicians up for re-election. Nobody's going to like a prison riot of women plastered all over the news. There's going to be so much bad publicity around it she could already taste the very unappetizing idea of congressional hearings, courtesy firings and months, hell, years of controversy.

Someone shoves a phone  into her hands, a list of phone numbers, a desk, manila folders, she thumbs through it briefly, sees mugshots and case files. Somehow they've managed to make a police van into a makeshift HQ, her crisis negotiation team gathered around, techies already gathered around, looking for blueprints, files, anything that could help her team with this situation. Outside, the tactical team - a SWAT team ready for any tactical assault, has already gathered, waiting for orders, sharp shooters at the ready, waiting for her go-signal to storm the place should things get worse. She hopes it doesn’t have to end that way. She’d asked them to give her eyes and ears on the situation, but so far, they cannot get a clear idea exactly how many inmates are involved in the riot, and if there are hostages or not.

She grabs the phone, mumbles a quick thanks, dials the number. She nods to one of the tech guys, the guy, black, goateed, bespectacled, muscled, nods and turns to his computer, ready to listen in.

The phone rings a few times. She impatiently makes a clucking noise. Someone answers on the nth ring. Next goal, Spacey thinks: isolate the hostage taker.

"What?!?" A woman's voice, agitated, angry, by the looks of it, black, demands.

"Hi, this is Jackson Spacey, I..."

"Who the fuck you think you are?" The voice asks. "And the fuck is a name like Jackson Spacey? Yo mama a big fuckin' Michael Jackson fan or what?"

"I want to talk to the one in charge please."

"You want to talk to the one in charge?" The voice has shifted, mocking, mimicking an upper class accent, laughing at her attempt at conversation. 

She waits patiently for the laughter to die down. Other voices join in.

Black techie guy, Wade, whispers, "Got a visual," and the others crowd around his screen. He'd launched a drone, searched the building, found his target. Spacey gestures for him to get the woman's picture, but Wade's already done so, searching police database files before a match comes up onscreen: Tasha Jefferson, Spacey reads, busted for and doing time for drug dealing. Someone riffles through the manila folders, hands her Jefferson’s file, she glances at it and is about to talk to Jefferson again but Jefferson has stopped her hysterical laughter.

"Bitch don't nobody know who in charge now," she says. "But I can tell you who ain't. It ain't the COs no more. And it ain't certainly you. So don't be playing with me and thinking you can talk to me in your self-righteous, condescending voice.  And being all high and mighty. There ain't gonna be any talkin' or negotiatin' or any kumbayahs by the campfire endin' in some lame ass Kodak moment. We in charge now bitch. We be taking our power back. Don't nobody else have power on us no more."

And with that she hears whoops of laughter and a click. She stares at the phone in her hand, curses under her breath and angrily slams the phone down.

 _Fuck_. She looks out the window. Night is falling. The snow is coming down hard. So much for isolating the hostage taker.

She looks at her team. They see a hard look come over her face. She looks pissed off. She looks at Wade and the others and says, “Cut the power. Cut the gas lines. Cut off food supplies, see how long they last.”

Wade and the others nod as they grab phones.

Suddenly, a loud, lone gunshot explodes from out of the night.

Everyone turns to the sound.

It’s from the main Litchfield prison building.

The fuck? She says. Everyone scrambles outside to see.

She sighs. It's going to be a long, long night…


	2. Chapter 2

 

Alex Vause sits beside Piper Chapman, watching a scene unfold in all its surreal horror in front of them in the church hall: Diaz, Ruiz, Gonzalez, Ramos and the other Hiispanic  stages on stage, gatherinng terrified C.O.s behind them, Diaz pointing a gun at them as Ruiz makes a speech in Spanish. the other inmates cheer them on. Piper is calmly translating Ruiz’s angry Spanish rants about the system not caring whether they live or die, about them only caring about the money and about how inmates keep getting shat on and how from now on, inmates will now do the shitting to Alex. Alex thinks Ruiz’s impassioned rant sounds much better in Spanish. Everyone is all riled up and angry. Alex gets it. They’ve been through shit and back – through shit prison food, shit accomodations, shit prison guards, shit everything. Everyone’s upset and angry and losing their shit.  But when Diaz and the others bring the guards out, force them to strip, parade in front, dance and whimper and shiver in the cold, Alex thinks they have gone too far.

Beside her, Piper is keeping a firm grip on Alex’s arm, to keep Alex from walking out of the hall and drawing attention to them. She had angrily hissed at Alex earlier, whispering that she calm down and sit down. “How are you okay with this?” she demands of Piper. Piper says, “I’m not okay with this…” Piper is calm, but she knows as well as Alex how these things could get nasty. Nicky, Morello, some of the others are as quiet and somber as they are, not daring to say anything with an inmate with a loaded gun amongst them, but Alex knows that if given a chance,  the absence of a gun would radically help change the odds in their favor and turn this around.

Prison riot. A gun. Hostages. Because she already knows without a doubt the others have already crossed a line when Diz grabbed that gun, pointed it at the COs and threatened them. This could mean a longer sentence for everyone involved. With a sinking feeling, Alex knows their chances of coming out of this alive would depend on how well they play their cards.

For the nth time, Alex thinks about how she ended up here.

She glances at Piper and remembers that conversation they had a few weeks back, when Piper told her she wants a normal life filled with boring routines like reading articles together and eating soup and holding hands while going to the ass doctor. Lately Alex has been realizing that all she can think about is what Piper said, and how much Alex just wants a normal life, with Piper, doing normal things, away from Litchfield, away from all these women, away from all these madness. Alex is basically done with all this bullshit.

Alex used to believe that all the bad things that’s happened to her, her father abandoning them, the bullying, the poor life she and her mom lived, the drug dealing, prison, even her failed relationships, were things she had no control over – events that occurred outside her sphere of influence, a confluence of events that conspired to bring here where she is now. But sitting there, watching Daya  and the others threaten and abuse and force the Cos, she realizes how much a lot of this shit could have been prevented if people had just made the right choices. That stupid CO didn’t have to bring a gun to work – they weren’t allowed to pack anything when they come to work. Caputo didn’t have to protect that Gerber kid, they should have taken responsibility for that shit like they should have. But at the same time, Gerber kid didn’t have to do what he did, restraining Poussey like that. But Crazy Eyes didn’t have to do what she did, too. But neither Gerber or Crazy Eyes mean to do what they did. Gerber didn’t know any better. There’s a part of Alex that knows Poussey’s death was an accident and that Gerber, sweet, naive stupid kid that he was, hadn’t meant to suffocate her to death. Crazy Eyes was just being Crazy Eyes – but then again, none of the new CO staff from MCC knew how to handle her episodes. Bell and O’Neill would have known what to do at least. Piscatella and the others just looked at them and thought them all dangerous criminals who deserved to be locked up. But then again, Alex and the other inmates didn’t have to make a stand on those tables, literally, to make a point, the point being they weren’t going to step down ‘til Piscatella and his ilk resign. What were they thinking to accomplish doing that? Nobody cares about inmates. Nobody cares about criminals. People just want them locked up and shut away – the scourge on society, the failures, the ones who couldn’t make it on the outside…

And on and on and on it goes…

If she hadn’t gotten involved with Kubra, then she wouldn’t be here, but she wouldn’t have gotten involved, if her father hadn’t turned out to be a disappointment...one long list of could have been’s and what-ifs and whatevers.

She had thought she had no choice before. But she realizes now she did. She does. That she’s made choices. That no one’s forced her to get into drug dealing. To get into trouble. To make the bad choices that she’s made. When she started dealing, she’d already given up that choice to live  a normal life. To make her own choices. The cartel made sure of that. The moment she decided to go into drug dealing, she’d already sealed her own fate. Going back into her past, she realizes she was always going to end up in prison, in this exact same spot, sitting beside Piper, watching a group of fed-up inmates turn COs in their own personal monkeys.

She’d chosen this, for both her and Piper and she doesn’t know how to change it or make it better.

Piper looks at her then and Alex thinks, she’s done just letting shit happen to her. This is as much for herself as it is for Piper. So she says, “I don’t care, I think this is fucking insane.”

The whole hall suddenly grows quiet.

* * *

Alex stands up and calmly says, “I don’t want to be a part of this. Most of us haven’t done anything wrong yet so why should we all go down because Diaz shot a guard?”

Ruiz angrily replies but Alex doesn’t hear any of it.

She’s sick of it.

All of it.

She turns her back on all of them and walks out on all of them, amidst the shocked silence and disbelief.

That’s when the power goes out.

And then one shot is fired.

And then another.

And then explosions.

Then shouts.

Footsteps.

Infrared lights.

Then all hell breaks loose.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Alex doesn’t remember what exactly happened.

One minute she was walking out of the auditorium. Then the power goes out.

And then, the next minute she sees shadows, shapes, groups of masked men in helmets and boots and black uniforms and big guns, infrared, lights coming from everywhere storming the halls. There is confusion and mayhem and chaos in the darkness, a flurry of activity and madness.  It takes her a second to realize the men are SWAT and that they have forcibly stormed Litchfield. She hears screams, shots, male voices shouting “This is the police!” “Hands where we can see them!” “Hands in the air!” “Nobody move!” “Down on the floor, inmate! Down on the floor!”

She hears shots fired, one, two, three, she hears more shots, hears more explosions, sees some inmates go down, whether from being shot at, or from being so scared they follow the orders, she doesn’t know, but when she sees them throw smoke bombs and sees the smoke fill the halls, something clicks in her head, a slow dread crawls up her spine and she turns around and makes a run for it.

“Hey! Hey! Stop! Inmate! Stop!”

She ignores it.

She continues to run. She hears footsteps behind her.

She makes a turn, then another.

The footsteps keep up.

She hears a shout.

Sees the door.

It’s the auditorium. Where minutes before she’d just walked out of.

She slams the door wide open, tries to quickly close it.

From behind her, she hears another shot fired.

* * *

Spacey watches her men drag Piscatella into the van in handcuffs. It wasn’t easy. Piscatella is a tall, hulk of man. And he refused to go down without a fight. They had dragged him kicking and screaming and practically frothing at the mouth when they handcuffed him to the chair.

She waits. Looks at her men. Then at Piscatella. She doesn’t speak. She looks Piscatella in the eye. Piscatella angrily looks back at her. Arrogance in his eyes. Pride in his face. There is no remorse there, Spacey notes. No fear. There is something almost psychotic in Piscatella’s wild, manic look. For a second, Spacey is afraid for the inmates. And wonders how such a psychopath would have been put in charge of women in the first place.

She knows this man wouldn’t listen to reason or to her. She could see it in his eyes. She might as well be one of them. The only difference is she’s not behind bars. That she’s not on the inside. There is a challenge in Piscatella’s eye, daring her to question his actions. That’s what set Spacey off.

Spacey still doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she calmly gets a gun from the table, approaches Piscatella sitting in the chair, stops a few inches in front of him. Piscatella notices the other men stepping back a bit.

Then Spacey hits him. Hits him with the butt of the gun. Piscatella feels his head whip back from the force. The pain comes immediately after, from where it hits him on the cheek, shoots up to his head, leaving a ringing sound inside. Before he could recover, Spacey hits him again and again and again, until he can see stars, and he tastes blood in his mouth and the pain throbs and he thinks he’s broken a tooth or two, and one eye feels like it’s swollen shut. He thinks he should file a case for police brutality but he thinks no one will believe a fucking pixie beat him up. And he can’t risk filing a case when he knows he’s done a lot that could not only get him indicted and imprisoned, but quite possibly killed.

When Spacey is done, she hands the gun back to her men. One of them gets the gun. Spacey is still calm, like she’s not broken a sweat beating up a man three times her size. Nothing in her demeanor suggests she’s just beaten someone to an almost unrecognizable pulp.

She doesn’t speak. She looks at Piscatella then. Calmly, coldly looks at him. Then she speaks. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just fucking done?!?” When he doesn’t speak, she continues. “You have endangered the lives of my men. And the inmates. You disobeyed a direct order. When all this is over, I will make sure you pay for this.” He smirks. If Spacey is annoyed at his insistence to play the macho guard, she doesn’t show it. She looks unfazed. She just says, “You are no longer in charge here. I am.”

Piscatella gulps. But then he recovers enough to just laugh at her face.

Spacey waits for him to finish laughing. “If you _ever_ , ever pull a stunt like that again, with the press and my bosses and everyone else watching, I will _end_ you, do you fucking hear me?”

And Piscatella suddenly grows afraid.

* * *

Spacey is pissed.

Really pissed.

That SWAT siege wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

When she’d heard the gunshot she’d come rushing out of the van, wondering what was going on. There were succeeding gunshots that came after and in the cold, snowy deepening night, she sees members of the SWAT team charging Litchfield, breaking down barricaded doors and windows, she hears more shots fired, screams, shots, a confusing play of infrared and flashlights in the darkened buildings and then fearful inmates running out of the building, running for their lives.

And all of it being filmed in front of the press.

She had been made to believe she was in charge of the team. She was, after all, the team leader. She sighs and thinks no matter how far she’s come, thinks no matter how she thinks she is in control,  the big boys, the man, the system, always reminds her she isn’t really in charge, that she’s just another cog in the wheel, expendable and dispensable. She knows she will get shit for what just happened.

Behind her somebody speaks. “And _that_ , is how you deal with inmates.”

She turns around. She sees a tall, bony angular woman with a strange, long, crooked face, big lips and a face that, for lack of a better word, reminds her of a weasel. She is wearing what seems like an expensive fur coat reaching all the way to her ankles, high heels, pearls and so much lipstick and mascara Spacey doesn’t know if she should arrest her or tip her. “I’m sorry but who are you?”

The woman smiles. “Figueroa. Natalie Figueroa. Good evening. I assume you’re Lt. Jackson Spacey?” When Spacey doesn’t respond, Figueroa says, “Listen, I know you mean well, and I know the drill, zero loss of life, avoid casualties, whatever, but Lieutenant, these are inmates, they are _criminals_ , and they should be dealt with swiftly and quietly, with force if necessary. So maybe you could call of your  ‘crisis response team’ or whatever they’re called and let us do this in-house. We know these inmates, we can handle them. We’ll be fine. Oh, and by the way, Judy King is still in there – her fans, her lawyer, her network, have all warned us if she doesn’t get out alive there will be hell to pay.”

Spacey just stares at her.

* * *

Alex doesn’t know how she ends up being Ruiz’s hostage. Like, how is that even possible? Alex is tall, taller than everyone here, she’s at least a head above everybody else. She’s had nicknames all her life to remind her of it, and prison was not an exception: she’s been called “Lurch”, “Stretch”, “Sasquatch”, Jefferson once called her an “Ent” and one of the others told her she reminded them of that song by Demi Lovato, “Skycraper”, which, what does that even mean? But here she is, gun at her  rib, Ruiz screaming at the SWAT team now standing by the doorway of the auditorium, guns pointed at them. Ramos, Diaz, the others have gathered the COs infront of the inmates, using them as a shield against the SWAT team. Luschek and the others are quietly whimpering, begging the SWAT team, “Please don’t shoot, please don’t shoot.”

Ruiz, meanwhile is alternately shouting at the guards to shut up, yelling in Spanish, and screaming at the SWAT team to back the fuck off, that she will kill the white girl, the white COs and they can just sit back and see how America enjoys a dead white people on TV. “Playing the white card, that’s racist,” Alex quietly snarks to Ruiz and Ruiz pulls at Alex’s left arm, the one Ruiz now has behind Alex’s back, and she says, “Shut the fuck up, white girl or we all die.”

“You could make it a bit more realistic,” Vause suggests.

“How the fuck can I when you so fucking tall, white girl?” Ruiz shoots back.

“Ruiz, we’ve been in here a long time, the name’s _Vause_ ,” Alex says. “It’s not Stretch, or Lurch, or Sasquatch or god forbid, ‘ _white girl’_. In fact, that’s so unoriginal I’m kind of offended actually. You could at least call me something a bit more creative. In fact, you could come up with a new one right now. Come on. It’s almost Christmas. I don’t ask for much. That would be a great gift.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Ruiz asks. “I thought Piper was the one who won’t shut up.”

“Only in bed,” Alex quips.

Ruiz says, “ _Eeewww_. Gross. Seriously, shut up.”

“Oh, don’t like banter?” Alex jokes. “Sorry, guess only Pipes likes to bant.”

Ruiz is about to say something back when they hear a crackle, as from a walkie talkie, a voice from one of their radio speaks (Alex thinks it’s a woman),  one of the SWAT team holds his hand up, closes his fist and then answers on his radio in a muffled voice.

An order seems to have been given, because the men quickly and cautiously leave, footsteps, radios, receded, and quiet settles back to the auditorium.

Before one of them leave, he stops in the middle of the door way, holds a radio up, carefully puts it on the floor, steps back and backs away.

There is silence, shock, for a few minutes. For a while, the inmates don’t quite seem to know what to do or say. Finally, Ruiz says in the dark, “What? That’s it?”

Everyone looks around as if in a daze.

Luschek starts to pee in his underwear.

They hear someone start to whimper.

“Is it over?” Ramos asks.

“I don’t think so?” Gonzales replies.

“Does this mean we get to be famous?” Ramos continues. “And why is it so dark? And cold?”

Ruiz whips at both younger women. “Shut the fuck up and barricade the doors!”

The two younger women jump at Ruiz’s voice, jump up and in a few minutes they and a few of the others are helping to barricade the doors with what they could find in the auditorium, which isn’t much. They’re taking out wood and whatever they can pull out of the walls, the chairs, the stage. Alex can hear grunts and complains and noise as the doors are barricaded. At one point, Alex hears Gonzales and Ramos talking. “I think I broke a nail, Maritza,” Gonzales whines, to which Ramos responds, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, this prison riot is so officially not fun anymore. And this hostage thingie isn’t fun, too. And it’s almost Christmas? And I haven’t wrapped my presents? I don’t actually know if I have enough so I can get some from the commissary…” “What did you get me, Maritza?” “Flaca, you know that’s a secret and you can only know at _Noche Buena_. God, it’s cold here.”

Alex sighs. That, at least, she and Flaca Gonzales could agree over. It’s fucking cold. And it’s fucking Christmas. And it’s fucking dark. This isn’t over yet. She looks around. She sees what is left of the people in the auditorium. Most have gone. Presumably re-arrested and sent to max. Or some other prison. She could make out the shapes and voices of Ruiz, Gonzales, Ramos, Jefferson, Crazy Eyes, Hayes, Morello, Nicky, Red, Chang, even Big Boo,  Pennsatucky and Judy King are here. She’s surprised she can recognize them in this darkness, but then again, this is prison and when someone has spent their entire life looking over their shoulder trying not to get killed, then being able to recognize someone in the darkness is a terrific skill to possess. She squints and sees Sophia and someone in a medical uniform taking a look at the guard Diaz shot, who is still bleeding what seems like copious amounts of blood on the floor. How he has not died from blood loss is beyond her.

Her eyes roam the small group of people gathered in the auditorium.

Where is Piper?

* * *

Spacey hadn’t meant to slap Figueroa. Her therapist always tells her she has anger management issues. Hell, she’s known it for years. She normally doesn’t hit women. When she’s tired and stressed and furious and frustrated, she just hits the gym, hits a gym bag over and over again until all the fury has gone out of her and then she goes back to her nice, quiet domestic life of girlfriend, child and dog and forgets what happened. But  Figueroa was asking for it. This is what she is vainly telling her balding, thinly gray-haired boss, Capt. Danny Thomas.

“I don’t care what you say, we do not hit government officials just because they were annoying and ‘looked funny’,” Thomas angrily says at her, as he uses air quotes for her words.

Spacey tries not to smile. She already knows she wouldn’t get into trouble for it, and even if she does, she knows Thomas will have her back. They’ve been through too much already, and Thomas is like a second father to her. But she knows Thomas will make sure they are by the books in hostage crisis situations like this.

“Sorry, sir,” Spacey says.

Thomas is silent. He sighs. Spacey can sometimes be difficult. She has such a black and white perspective on things, a very strict, clear moral code that has everything boxed into blacks and whites, that it’s frustrating sometimes having to point out why one wrong doesn’t justify doing another wrong. But he knows her heart is in the right place and she is a damn good negotiator.

“Go out there and deal with this situation, I’m gonna deal with the feds and the press and City Hall all up our ass over this,” Thomas says, waving a dismissive hand at her. “This has become a press nightmare!”

Spacey nods and leaves.

* * *

She couldn’t help it.

Couldn’t help punching Figueroa.

She _was_ asking for it. With her condescension and her arrogance and her meddling.

She’d punch her again if she could. Not after finding out some inmates had been shot during the siege. Never mind that they’d evacuated most of the inmates now and they’ve all been sent to max or some other prison to ride out this crisis. At least most of the inmates have been contained. The problem was they’ve also pushed the crisis to a breaking point, and they actually now have an actual  hostage crisis on their hands. She isn’t sure of the numbers and names yet, but she knows a small group of inmates have gathered in the auditorium, holding the COs hostage. She knows one of the COs have been shot. Knows if she hadn’t called them off, that scene in the auditorium would have turned out differently. Possibly with more blood and injuries, or worse, dead bodies.

They’ve not made their demands yet, but she hopes they will soon so they can finish this and everyone can go home.

She curses under her breath.

Part of her feels like this is swiftly spiraling out of control.

She has this sneaking feeling that though she thinks she’s in control, she really isn’t.

* * *

Wade comes up to her and gives her a folder by the van.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“The list you asked for, Lieutenant,” Wade says. In a lowered voice, he says, “I was doing random checks, like you asked, on Piscatella and some of the others, turns out they’re all not as squeaky clean as they would like us to think.”

Spacey looks down at the list, looks at the next pages, looks at figures and numbers, squints as Wade uses a flashlight. She curses the night and the darkness. Shivers in the cold. Brushes back hair that is being blown by the wind. She feels her stomach growl, realizes she’s not eaten anything. It’s almost midnight and it’s the twenty third of December and all she wants to do now is go home to her girlfriend and daughter and drink a cold, cold beer.

“I’ve got all the data in a stick. Got a back up, too. But I don’t think that’s all. And, Lieutenant, thought you should know,” Wade says, pointing at something on the list, “ I don’t think the SWAT siege that happened earlier was an accident, Lieutenant…Someone gave that order and it’s not from us.”

Spacey stares at the folder, at the words, the names, the implications. She swallows. Feels something akin to dread and anxiety grip her.

Wade continues, in the same low voice, “We’ve been compromised, Lieutenant. I don’t think we’re in control anymore.”

She feels fear now.

If they’re not in control, then that could only mean one thing: that the inmates are now more in danger than they earlier thought.

That means they are not safe.


	4. Chapter 4

 

It is quiet in the auditorium.

Alex sits hunched and huddled in one corner, shivering. Piper is nowhere to be found. She’s not with the Hispanic inmates, or Jefferson and the other African Americans, or with Red, Nichols, Chang, Big Boo. Left to their own devices, inmates have gradually gravitated to their own groups, forming loose circles around the stage, with the tied COs by the far wall, away from them, everyone not separating themselves from the bigger group, afraid to venture in the greater darkness of the place. Only Alex has chosen to sit far way from everyone, pissed that Ruiz had to use her as both shield and  hostage, pissed she cannot find Piper, pissed she’s again stuck in this situation.

This place functioning as both chapel and auditorium means someone has found some candles and they have managed to light them with what little matches were found. She watches shadows on the wall.

Everyone is quiet, a mood of doom and gloom settling on everyone. Up to this point, no one has realized the extent of what they’d done – not Jefferson, not Diaz, not Ruiz. Before the SWAT had stormed in and shots were fired, they hadn’t realized how serious it all was. Now everyone sits quiet, occasional somber conversation punctuating the darkness. Everyone is cold and listless.

“I should just give myself up,” Diaz finally speaks up. “I’m the one who shot someone. Vause is right. Nobody else should go down because of what I did.”

Ruiz is already shaking her head. “No, no, that’s exactly what they want, the _putas_.”

Gloria Mendoza speaks up. “That’s exactly what you should do, Daya. Give yourself up. I promised your mother I’d look out for you once she got out, and she ain’t gonna like this one bit. Your ass is fucked if you stay here any longer.”

“Yeah, the longer we stay here, the bigger shit we’re in,” Nichols says.

“You shouldn’t have shot that guard, Diaz,” Flaca Gonzales says.

“Yeah, you shoulda just...shot the ceiling or something,” her friend, Maritza Ramos, agrees emphatically.

The others join in and start arguing about whether Diaz should have shot the guard or not.

Diaz fidgets, absently plays with the gun as the other inmates argue before she says, “Alright, alright! I’m sorry. I was being in the moment. Felt good to have a gun in my hand. I never had that kind of power before, okay? Felt good.”

Alison Abdullah says, “Yes, but you know what kind of power we can have? With Caputo and the others here? We already have hostages anyway. We should use this to our advantage.”

Everyone turns to her. She is quiet at first, before she says, “We can do this two ways," she tells the rest of the inmates. "One, like a bunch of animals, like how they treat us. Or two, like civilized human beings, like how we want them to treat us."

“Oh, are you fucking kidding me?” Caputo suddenly speaks up. “This isn’t going to solve anything. Worse case scenario you’re looking at longer sentences, even max!”

Diaz turns the gun to him. That shuts him up.

The others think about this, a buzz goes around the group.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Taystee Jefferson says. “We should totally like, make a list of demands.”

“Yeah, but everyone has a different idea about what we should ask for,” someone speaks up.

“Should we put to in a vote or something?” someone else asks.

“Democracy is bullshit,” Jefferson declares.

“But it’s the only one we got,” Abdullah says. “We could all make a list and see which ones could work.”

The inmates start to talk excitedly to each other.

Alex looks at all of them, incredulous. _Un-fucking-believable_ , she thinks to herself. Diaz, Jefferson, Abdullah approach her. “You got a list of demands?”

Alex just stares at them and says, “Nope, don’t want to get involved.”

“Vause...” Abdullah begins.

Alex cuts her off. “Look, I get what you’re trying to do or whatever, but I said I don’t want to get involved, I hope you can respect that. I just want to stay here, and do my time and think about how fucked my life is because you guys just refuse to make good choices.”

Jefferson shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”

They all stare at her, before Abdullah and Jefferson snort and leave her alone. Jefferson stops though and turns around and says, “You know what, Vause, you being selfish.”

Vause shakes her head. “No. I’m not. It’s called self-preservation. Look it up, it’s right under, ‘Don’t give a shit or two fucks’.”

Jefferson says, “See, that ain’t even the right way to alphabetize, man. Library of Congress would...you know what, forget about it, man. You don’t care. So whatever.”

She could hear them whispering to each other, “What’s up with the Tall One? She and Blondie get into a fight?”

“Dunno.”

“Where is blonde Katy Perry?”

“Dunno. You seen her?”

“No.”

* * *

“Alright team, status report: do we have a visual?” Spacey asks into her radio. “Do we have eyes and ears on our HTs?”

“Yes, LT,” one of her men respond. “We are in position. Going online now.” There is static, Spacey watches the screen, all gray now, then the screen starts broadcasting images. “And we are live,” he announces.

Spacey nods. The images are grainy and dark, but her men have managed to insert cables under one of the doors and in a crevice near the stage so that she can see two live feeds of the hostage takers and their hostages inside the auditorium that also doubles as a chapel. She could make out shapes moving around, so far the image looks normal, nothing to suggest anyone is going to harm the hostages anytime soon.

“We got ears?” she asks.

“On it, LT,” they respond. In a few minutes, she starts to hear a bit of the conversation in the hall, it isn’t clear, but it will have to do.

“All other units, status report?” she asks into her radio.

“We’re here, LT,” a voice confirms in the radio. “Back of Litchfield. Done with perimeter checks. We’ve got eyes and ears, here.”

“Alright, stand by for further instructions,” she says. “Do not go in without my say so.”

She starts to yawn, glances at her watch, realizes it’s a little before midnight. The crowd outside has left, what with the snow not abating. Only the press have stayed, and most of them have retreated to their vans, some have gone to look for a twenty four hour diner where they can grab some dinner while the others have probably decided to either go home or check in a nearby hotel somewhere and grab some shut eye. Just as well, Spacey thinks. They had gotten an eyeful earlier of inmates being herded outside the buildings with arms raised, hands behind their heads and into prison buses headed to other prisons.

She turns, looks around the van, turns to Wade, who hands her folders. “Head count?”

Wade nods. “We’ve checked with the DOC, all the prisoners are all accounted for, and we’re guessing the ones left in there are what’s missing in the list. I’ve put them all in together in there.”

Spacey nods. “We’ve got their families? Known associates? Previous records? The works?”

Wade nods again.

She flips through the pages, stops at one. “Who’s this?”

“Piper Chapman, Lieutenant.”

She squints, knits her eyebrows. “Smith grad, top of her class, no known priors. In for conspiracy. Drugs.” She thinks for a while. “What’s a WASP-y Smith grad doing in there with the others?”

Wade shrugs. “Dunno. She’s got three months left on her sentence. Known associate, Alex Vause. Drug trafficking. Seems they knew each other from the outside.” As Spacey reads Alex Vause’s profile, Wade continues, “Vause got off on good behavior. Was on parole but went back in for a parole violation, ” Spacey looks at him, prompts him to continue. “Illegal possession of firearms, claims her former boss was trying to kill her. Apparently she named some people so she could get a lower sentence.”

“Vause’s associates?”

“Some guy named Kubra Balik. Says the guy sent someone to try to kill her.”

“Shouldn’t she be in protective custody if she thinks her life is in danger? In fact, I think she would have been able to get into witness protection if she cut a deal with the DEA and the Feds.”

“Dunno, that’s what the record says. They just brought her back in. She’s serving time for parole violation.”

Spacey shakes her head. She stops, thinks about it. “Kubra Balik. Now where do I know that name from?”

Wade shakes his head.

“I could swear I’ve heard that name before. Do a check on Kubra Balik and his connections. See if something comes up.”

“Got it.”

“Who’s this? Alison Abdullah. She Muslim?”

Wade nods. “Yes. No known terrorist connections. She’s just doing time like everybody else.”

“The other inmates?”

“It’s a colorful group of people, LT,” Wade comments. “We’ve got people in there on simple theft charges, trespassing, fraud, attempted murder,  murder, laundering, we’ve even got someone with Russian mafia  ties.”

Spacey nods as he points to a photo of a woman with wild hair looking angrily and fiercely at the camera.

Wade shrugs. “Most of them are in there on drug charges though. Drug abuse, drug dealing, drug trafficking, you name it.”

“And the COs?”

“Ran the standard background checks, like you asked. This guy Luschek was once arrested on child pornography charges, but was never charged. This other guy, CO Humphrey, was listed as a person of interest in a number of disappearances all over the state, never been charged, not enough evidence. This other guy, CO Charlie Coates – arrested on rape charges, back when he was in high school, he was some big shot jock or whatever, after school party gone wrong, victim claims she was drugged, charges were dropped after.”

The hell? She goes through the files. “What the hell kind of operation are they running in there?”

Wade shakes his head. “The other inmates who got out started talking about some abuses they got from the current COs.” Spacey waits as Wade continues. “Apparently there’ve been rumors of inhumane treatment, allegations of sexual assault and some other...unfavorable behavior.”

“Such as?”

“They wouldn’t say. But it seems scary enough to keep the inmates quiet and terrified, but not too extreme as to get media attention.”

Pscyhological torture, Spacey surmises. 

“Apparently prison’s facing some issues as of late. Was supposed to be shut down, on account of funding and mismanagement. COs wanted higher pay. Inmates wanted better conditions. COs went on strike. Then Litchfield was privatized, MCC took over, former COs got terminated, MCC provided new COs, they got more inmates in there. Litchfield was supposed to house only about 100 to 150. Right now, they’ve got some 300 or 350. The rest is history.”

So they’ve got hardened criminals mixed in there with lightweights and COs with shady backgrounds? That’s not good. Privatization of prisons had been an issue all over the country and there’d been complaints about management. If her guess was correct, most complaints would have to do with living conditions, COs, and so on. Private contractors like MCC have been suspected and some, in some cases, have been known to cut corners to keep costs down. She wouldn’t be surprised if the food in Litchfield was crap, for one. Add to that the issue of overcrowding and you’ve got a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. No wonder inmates had gone on a prison riot.

And she still has this little matter of suspected rogue cops in their midst. The first team had been taken out, a new team brought in. She’d had Wade go through their files, too.

She stops when she spots a name and a face. “Who’s this?”

“Omar Khan,” Wade reads. “Dunno. He’s new. Brought in with the others.”

“Newer than the others though,” Spacey comments. “Do the standard check on him, too.” She sighs. “Anything on Figueroa, Piscatella?” she asks.

Wade nods. “Yes, called in a few of our sources. Seems Figueroa was under investigation. Kept under wraps.”

“On what?”

“Corruption. Dunno what happened to that. But it was dropped when MCC took over Litchfield. Piscatella got dismissed from his last job.”

“What for?”

“Assault, torture,” Wade responds. “Psych profile suggests possible latent homosexuality.”

Spacey makes a face. “I hate that bullshit. Just ‘cause he’s an asshole and a dick doesn’t always mean some latent homosexuality bullshit. That’s not an excuse and they should know that.” How the hell are all these people still employed? She wonders. Something tells her some higher power is pulling the strings but she still doesn’t know who and she doesn’t know if she will ever know. “Do we have anything on Figueroa and Piscatella’s known associates?”

“Still looking. Figueroa keeps it clean. Not much of a paper trail there.”

“And the one in charge of that place. Caputo? What do we have on him?”

“Not much. But he and Figueroa seemed tight before. Don’t know what happened after that.”

“Alright. Keep digging. Maybe we can find something in there. We got the search warrants?”

“Yes. Wasn’t easy. D.A. woke up cranky and pissed, but yes, we’ve got our search warrants.”

Another of her men, young, blond, new to the force, signals to her, gives her a thumb’s up sign and indicates one of the radios.

She nods at the young man. “Good, let’s start searching, ” Spacey says to Wade. She stands up then. Everyone looks at her as she picks up the radio.

“Ready?” the blond man asks.

She gives him a thumb’s up sign.

She presses the button, starts talking.

* * *

 Alex feels like she cannot breathe. Alex feels like she’s about to lose her mind. She doesn’t know where Piper is. She doesn’t know if she’s been arrested like the rest, thrown in max somewhere, or she’s been shot or hurt and bleeding somewhere in the building. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. Where the fuck is Piper?

Suddenly, the radio one of the SWAT men left behind by the front door crackles to life. In the darkness and subdued silence and cold the noise of the radio seemed loud and jarring.

“Hello?” a female voice asks from the radio. “Is anyone there?”

Alex perks up, curious. Jefferson and the others turn to where the voice is coming from.

“This is Lt. Jackson Spacey, of the New York State Police Department. Can anyone hear this?”

There is a pause. The voice is firm, calm, confident, _authoritative_. Alex draws her breath, as if she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar but then she realizes she’s in prison so the only way this could get any worse is if she’s done something worse and gets her sentence extended. She shivers in the cold.

“May I know who’s in charge here please?”

Everyone turns to each other. Diaz, Ruiz and Jefferson get up. Everyone starts talking. “Who’s gonna answer her?” “You?” “No, you do it!” “I ain’t talking to no bitch on the radio!” “What am I gonna tell her?”

Finally, Jefferson ends up walking down the stage, middle of the aisle, picking up the radio and answering. “Yeah, who wants to know?”

Jackson Spacey answers, “Pretty much everyone, right now. What’s your name?”

Jefferson turns to the stage, makes a face, makes a signal as if to say, “What should I do?” to which the others throw up their hands, unsure what to tell her.

“Um, Taystee… Taystee Jefferson.”

“Taystee...May I call you Taystee?”

Jefferson shakes her head, unsure and says, “No.”

“No?”

“I mean, yes, I mean, whatever, call me what you like, it don’t matter. We dead anyway, ain’t it?”

“It’s a little bit too early for that. I don’t want you thinking about that. Taystee, I’ve never lost anyone before and I’m not starting now. I’m here to listen to you and to try to make sure everyone stays safe. Right now, it’s still only a riot, nobody’s been hurt, nobody else has been hurt. All kinds of things can happen in a situation like this….”

“Hey now don’t be talking to me like I’m some kinda terrorist,” Jefferson cuts in. Before Spacey could speak more, she says, “I’m a natural born American citizen, born and bred.”

“I understand, and that’s not what we are implying.”

“I mean, do I sound like I’m a terrorist?”

“You don’t sound like anything, Taystee.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I ain’t a terrorist. And I’m not doing any kind of terrorizin’.” Jefferson looks at her friends and grins. They give her a thumb’s up sign. Black Cindy Hayes comes up and gives her a high five.

Spacey says, “Alright, got it. Now, are you okay? Are you injured? Does anyone need medical attention? Is everybody safe for now?”

“Uh…” Jefferson looks around, doesn’t know what to say. Her eyes rest on the CO Diaz shot. “Um, yeah, we alright. ‘Cept for one CO. He the one Diaz shot.”

Diaz glares at Jefferson. Jefferson gives her an apologetic look.

“Diaz? Is that Daya Diaz?” Spacey asks.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” Diaz whispers. She flips the radio off, as if the woman in the radio is actually there.

“Um, yeah, yeah, that’s her,” Jefferson says.

“Alright, is he okay? Has anyone stopped the bleeding? Is he conscious?” the voice asks calmly.

Jefferson glances at the man. “Yeah, I think so. But he don’t look too good. He be bleeding all over the floor and shit.”

“Okay,” the woman says. “Does anybody else need medical attention.”

Diaz points to one of the COs, shows her a syringe.

“What the fuck, Diaz?” Jefferson asks, covering the radio. “He need drugs or what?”

“Insulin, man, he needs insulin. He’s a diabetic,” Diaz responds. “And I think even if you cover the radio? They could still hear you. You need to push one of them buttons over there.”

Jefferson gives her a dirty look. “Shut up, man.” She turns to the radio. “Uh, and one of them COs? He a diabetic. He be needing some insulin or some such shit. He don’t look too good either. He either constipated right now, or he about to die or something.”

The voice responds. “Alright. Listen, Taystee, I need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“I need you to bring that diabetic CO and that hurt CO out, okay? I need you to give them to us,” the woman says in her calm, even voice. “You don’t want either one dying on you right now, yes? How long since he’s been shot?”

“I don’t know. Hours, maybe.”

“Right, all the more reason for him to be turned over to us. He needs medical attention, Taystee.”

“Why should we give him to you?” Taystee asks. “He been one of those assholes who hurt us. And he was packing when he came in. So he intended to hurt us.”

“Listen, Taystee, I understand your frustration. You have been through a lot, I know that. But if that CO dies on your watch, you’re looking at manslaughter...possibly even murder...that means a longer sentence not just on the one who shot him, but everyone else. If the other man who needs insulin doesn’t get it soon and he dies, that’s another felony on top of the ones you’re serving for right now. Do you understand?”

Taystee mouths _fuck_ at the radio. Everyone else is silent.

“So, can you hand them over to us. We’re trying to make sure this does not get any worse than it already is. Can you do that?” Spacey asks.

“Demands! Demands!” someone suddenly tells Jefferson. “We gotta have demands! Before we give ‘em up!”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Caputo says.

“Shut the fuck up, Caputo,” Ruiz says.

Jefferson stands there, uncertain. “Um, can I get back to you on that?”

“Yes,sure, take your time. But don’t wait too long. We need those men brought to the hospital right away.”

Jefferson nods, even though she knows the woman cannot see her. Behind her, the inmates had already started shouting their demands.

“Yeah, I want Netflix!” “Oprah!” “Beyonce!” “Flaming Hot Cheetos!” “With corn tortillas!” “Anti-gravity chamber!” “Ice cream sundae bar!” “Live music!” “Latin classes!”

Alex listens to them and rolls her eyes. “Amateurs.”

She doesn’t realize her voice is loud until a quiet settles on them all and Ruiz stands up, puts her hands on her waist and demands, “You got a better idea?”

Alex raises one thin eyebrow.

* * *

Everyone waits as Alex looks at all of them.

“I just think this is all stupid okay? I mean, come on, you guys, Flaming Hot Cheetos? Tortillas? Netflix? Anti-Gravity Chamber? Are you fucking kidding me?” Alex asks. “You’ve got them all listening to you right now, you’ve got the power, and all you can think of asking is Cheetos? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Well, what do you want us to do, huh?” Ruiz asks.

Alex shrugs. “I don’t know, man, I don’t want to get involved. I just want to…”

“Serve your time, get out, we get it,” Diaz interrupts. “But listen, we’re in too deep in this shit now, anyway, we need to play our cards right.”

Alex snorts. “Shoulda thought of that before you shot the guard.”

Diaz puts her hands up, exasperated. “Alright! Alright! I did a bad thing, I shot the guard. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry, okay? My bad. Can we please move on? Worst case scenario I’ll be doing more time. It was stupid, I know. But can you help us figure this out?”

Alex looks at all of them. “Why me? Are you making me an accessory to your shit? Dragging me in this shit?”

Diaz shakes her head. “No, no, see if it were anyone of us, I don’t think they’ll listen.” The others nod. “I mean, we don’t want to play the race card, but it’s true. If we talk, nobody’ll listen. They won’t take us seriously. They _don’t_ take us seriously. If it were Jefferson, they’d be thinking she’s just an angry black woman with an ax to grind...no offense Jefferson...”

“None taken,” Jefferson quickly responds.

“If it were any of us, we’d just be a bunch of Spanish harlem _chikas_ that the world forgot, why should they listen?” Diaz continues. “But we saw how it was with Chapman. Chapman spoke, her fiance spoke -” here Alex makes a disgusted face, remembering Larry and his smarmy, smug face - “And it got broadcast all over radio. Judy King’s in here and she’s white and famous and she’s got her face all over the news.”

“I still don’t get it. You could get Piper to speak up for all of you again.”

Suddenly, everyone shakes their heads vehemently.

“No, not Chapman. Not ever.”

“Why? She’s smart, she’s articulate, she can bullet point all of your concerns into a fucking brilliant powerpoint presentation. She’ll probably end up making us all a shitload of money,” Alex points out.

“No offense, Vause, I know she be the boo of your life or whatever,” Jefferson begins, “But your boo? She be cray-cray. She be okay one minute, the next minute she be all up on our shit about pissing on her territory or some such shit.”

Diaz nods. “She’s right. We’ve got nothing against Chapman, but we need someone level-headed who can talk to the police and help us all get out of this in one piece.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person. I’m not some kind of leader who could bring you to the promise land. I mean, look, if I was level headed? I wouldn’t be in prison in the first place.”

Jefferson thinks about this for a second. “She right. But regardless of that, we still need someone to talk to the cops. And it ain’t gonna be me or the others. You seem to have all your shit together, man. I can’t talk without getting all pissed on account of Poussey, man. I’m losing my shit man. I can’t think straight. I can’t talk straight. I feel like I’m just gonna hulk out any moment now. We think you should talk to ‘em.”

Alex laughs. “Believe me, I _don’t_ have my shit together. I’m about to lose my shit right now. _Because you won’t shut up about this._ ”

“Aw, come on, Vause, it’s Christmas eve, we ain’t askin’ for much,” Jefferson pleads. “Plus you got that low, sexy voice that commands attention. Frankly, if I was gay, I’d be begging you to make me your bitch.” The others nod in agreement.

Alex makes a face. “What?”

Jefferson smiles sheepishly. “Just sayin’. I’m straight, but even I can appreciate some hot chick.”

Alex blushes.

“So, come on, you gonna do it or what? Take one for the team?”

* * *

Spacey gives Jefferson and the others a few minutes. She notes that they seem uncertain, definitely scared, obviously unorganized. They don’t know what they want and they don’t know how to proceed. The SWAT siege that happened earlier have obviously scared them shitless, else they would be firmer in their demands.

She watches the screen, sees the women in the candlelit hall moving, shapes and shadows in the cameras. She could hardly make out who they are.

Somebody brings her a burger and some Chinese takeout. She checks her watch. A few minutes past  midnight. She grabs a coffee. Rubs her eyes. She’s tired and sleepy. She’d called her girlfriend and already informed her she’s running a little late. Paula had sighed and sleepily said, “Okay”, used to Spacey’s crazy work hours and job.

December 24. Spacey shivers and wishes she could go home.

The radio crackles. She grabs it and listens. When she talks to it, she hears a different voice.

* * *

“This isn’t Taystee,” Spacey observes.

“Yeah, yeah, it isn’t,” Alex says. _Fuck peer pressure, seriously,_ Alex thinks to herself. “Um, apparently they took the vote and decided a white voice was better was better than some other race? Or whatever.”

Diaz and Jefferson make a face at her.

“You leading the team now?” Spacey asks.

“Not really,” Alex says. She glances at the others. “Think of me as a… broker? I guess. They’d prefer I talk to you.”

“Alright, can you tell me how many there are of you there, COs and inmates,” Spacey requests, “And if you could tell me all your names please.”

“Okay,” Alex says, and promptly gives the officer their names. She doesn’t give her own name though.

“Good,” Spacey comments, after Alex has given her the names. “So, have we come to a decision regarding our wounded CO and our diabetic CO?” Spacey asks.

“Yeah, we have,” Alex says. “We’re willing to give them up, but only if the power and the heat come back on.”

Spacey smiles to herself. Clever girl. The voice on the other end is low, level, steady. From the screen, she could see a tall, well-built woman, with long hair. She still can’t quite make out who it is, and can’t identify the woman from the files of mug shots she has. The woman has refused to identify herself, wants to be anonymous, but it will only be a matter of time before she identifies her.

“Okay, let me see what I can do about that. But only after we have our COs. I hope you understand, we want to minimize casualties,” Spacey says.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand,” Alex says. “Jefferson and Hayes are bringing them out. I hope you have a medic out with you.”

“Yes, I’m sending out some people to meet them in front.”

“Great,” Alex says, breathing out a sigh of relief. She wipes her sweaty palms against her pants and realizes how clammy they are. She watches as Jefferson and Hayes hoist the wounded CO and the diabetic one on their shoulders, accompanied by Diaz and Mendoza. She hears her stomach growl. She watches them slowly make their way to the door. She and the others follow and watch as they go down the hall.

They watch by the windows minutes later, with the flashing police car lights and media lights and whirling snow, as police and medics rush to meet the wounded CO and the diabetic CO. Alex sighs in relief.

Spacey’s voice comes back on. “Okay, you’ve been good. You kept your promise. The power’s coming back on.”

In a few minutes, the lights flicker in the hall, there’s a whirr, and the power comes back on. There’s  whoop of joy and laughter inside the auditorium. Jefferson and Hayes and the other inmates come back in, happy.

“Thank you, officer,” Alex says. “You have no idea how much this means to us.” In a little while, she feels something hum to life and realizes that the heat has been turned back on, too.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” the voice says. “Right, anything else I can do for you?”

“Oh, and I don’t know but...can we have some food here, too? I know you’re committed to making sure nobody’s hurt or whatever, and I think everyone here’s hungry. Some pizza would be nice.”

“Pepperoni!” “Ham and Cheese!” “With Anchovies!”

She turns back to the radio, “What they said, with some pepperoni, ham and cheese and anchovies.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

Abdullah hands Alex a piece of paper. Alex looks at it and sees the words “demands” in bold letters hastily written on top of the paper, and below it, in numbers, the following:

  1. _Better healthcare_
  2. _Fire the guards, which Janae reports received the most votes_
  3. _Reinstate the GED program_
  4. _Free tampons_
  5. _Fresh vegetables_
  6. _No more random cavity searches_
  7. _Access to competent lawyers_
  8. _End of SHU_
  9. _Conjugal visits_
  10. _Equal treatment_
  11. _Internet_
  12. _Better jobs_
  13. _Better care for the elderly_



“Not necessarily in that order,” Abdullah tells her.

Alex glares at her, puts up her hands. “What the _fuck_? Seriously?” she whispers to Abdullah. “What is this?”

“It’s what everyone agreed on,” Abdullah says.

“Well, you might as well ask for world peace, there’s no way they’re gonna say yes to all of these,” Alex says.

Abdullah shrugs. “We could try. Tryin’s better than not tryin’ at all.”

Maritza Ramos and Flaca Gonzales nod. Ramos says, “Yeah, we could try. Try askin’ for the tampons first, that’s kinda easy. I feel my period comin’ on. I might need me some of those.”

Alex gives her a dirty look.

“Alright, alright, geez, white girl be so cranky,” Ramos comments.

Alex turns to the radio, contacts Lt. Jackson Spacey again and says, “Uh, yeah, and we’ve got a list of demands here, too.”

“Yeah, let me hear it. Let me grab a pen and paper first.”

“Okay,” Alex says, then promptly reads the list.

Spacey patiently writes them down, not saying anything or commenting on the list. If she is puzzled or curious or even exasperated at the kind of demands they have, she doesn’t say. She just says, “Uh-huh”, “Okay”, “Right”, “Got it” after every item Alex reads out and listens quietly to Alex’s explanation. Behind her,  the other women are giving her the thumb’s up sign and nodding as she explains the list.

“Okay, I think I’ve got everything now, anything else you need?”

Alex stops, thinks about it, walks a few yards away from the others’, out of earshot, then puts the radio nearer, lowers her voice, and says, “Yeah, there’s something else. Um, could you please check someone named Piper Chapman?”

There is a brief silence on the other line. “Okay, sure,” Spacey finally says.

“It’s just...she’s not here right now, and I just want to make sure she’s okay?”

“Right, hold on,” Spacey says. A few seconds later, she says, “We had a head count of all the inmates who surrendered earlier, no Piper Chapman in there.”

Alex’s heart thuds. “Really?” she asks, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“But where is she then?”

“We’re not sure, but if you can give us some time, we’ll find out for you,” Spacey offers.

“Um, okay,” Alex says, getting increasingly worried.

“Okay.”

* * *

Spacey takes a deep breath.

Outside the van, the mood is serious and somber.

She swallows, gets in touch with Alex.

“Hey, Alex.”

“Oh, hey, hi, any word on Piper?” the voice on the other side, full of hope, asks in false cheerfulness.

“Um, no, I’m sorry, we’re still checking,” Spacey says, distracted.

“Oh.”

There is a silence between them.

Finally, Spacey says, “Listen, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“You know that CO your inmate friend accidentally shot?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s just had a heart attack,” Spacey explains. “He’s been rushed to the hospital. We don’t know if he’s gonna make it. But if he doesn’t, I’m not sure your demands are ever going to see the light of day. I’m sorry.”

“ _Oh, shit_.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Alex closes her eyes.

The others have gathered around her, uncertain, unsure what to do next. “What do we do?” “What’s gonna happen to us?” “We should just give up.” “But we have demands. We have to see it through its fruition.” “I don’t know what that means but we should see this through to the end.” “That’s what I meant.” “We are so _fucked_.”

Alex puts her hands up, and says, “Would everyone please _shut the fuck up_!”

There is complete silence now.

Taystee Jefferson deigns to say, in a small voice, “Sorry.”

“Alright, I want everyone to just give me some space right now,” Alex orders.

“Space for what?” Jefferson asks.

“To _think_!”

“Oh, okay, right, sorry, my bad,” Jefferson says, and she gestures to everyone to back off.

She watches everyone walk away, wondering to herself, _What the fuck do we do now?_

* * *

Piper Chapman wakes up with a headache and a big bump on her head. At first she feels disoriented, wonders where she is, then she realizes she is in one of the supply closets, lying on her back, head pounding and painful. At first she wonders why she is here, one minute she was walking after Alex, intending to go the toilet to answer the call of nature, the next minute she is caught in the chaos and fear, guns and smoke bombs exploding, men in black with high powered guns training guns on her and the other inmates. She vaguely remembers running the opposite direction, instead of surrendering, which she probably should have done in the first place. She remembers trying to evade the police, she doesn’t remember whether she was trying to hide in the closet and she definitely doesn’t remember being hit or losing consciousness. She rubs her head, checks herself for injuries, determines that she is still in one piece and decides to leave the closet, to check where the others are. She cautiously opens the door, looks right and left, sees empty halls, wonders where everyone is, catches sight of the flashing police car lights outside and decides to cautiously make her way out and find where the others are.

* * *

Everyone is eating the pizza, but the news that the CO Diaz shot has had a heart attack has put a damper on everyone’s spirit. Diaz is in one corner, hands on her head, rocking back and forth, uncertain and afraid. Gloria Mendoza, her mother’s friend, is beside her, quiet and watching.

Someone has offered Alex pizza, but she had declined it, opting instead to distance herself from everyone. So she has placed herself as far away from the others as possible, with the walkie talkie still in her hand, sulking and brooding and thinking about Piper and what they have to do next.

 _What’s happened to Piper?_ She wonders desperately. What if she’s hurt or _worse_. Worse. She hasn’t thought of what could be worse than being hurt. She hopes Piper’s fine. Fuck. She doesn’t think she’d be able to get through this without her. She still has millions of things to tell her. Millions of things to argue about with her. Millions of things to experience and enjoy and talk about. Most of all she wishes she’d told how much she cared for her. How much she still cares for her. How much she wants to be with her. That lately, all she can think of is not traveling around the world, not knowing  where she’d wake up next, but wanting to wake up next to her, somewhere steady and permanent and _home_.

Home.

Piper feels like home.

Most of all, Piper feels like home.

She wishes she’d told her that.

* * *

The others are now sated and sleepy and tired.  They are anxious about what tomorrow, Christmas Day, will bring, but their minds and bodies are exhausted but they cannot sleep. Whether it’s because of the day’s events, or whether because of new developments, Alex could not say, but it’s a mixture of excitement and anxiety over what the future will bring. The COs have gathered together for warmth. The other inmates have secured the COs in one area, making sure they are unable to escape, handcuffed or tied. The inmates stand by and guard the COs as one by one the COs drift off to sleep. The inmates are still chatting with each other, whispered conversations low and serious, punctuated once in a while by quiet laughter. There’s an easy camaraderie and bond that has been formed born of the crisis that everyone has shared. She could even hear some soft Christmas carol singing, which seems comforting somehow and yet it makes her feel even more lonely and depressed.

Alex watches them all from where she is sitting, feeling so far away from everyone, even though they are only a few yards from her. She wants to think of Christmas gifts for Piper, realizes they’re not normal people and she can’t give her a decent Christmas present like a regular, normal person, so she thinks of a non-gift, a Christmas mix kind of playlist, except instead of Christmas songs, she could give her a list of pop songs instead. Something not as gay as the last mix she gave her. All she can think of now though is Chainsmokers’ “Roses” and Meghan Trainor’s “Like I’m Gonna Lose You”. She wonders if Piper will like it. Fuck this is pathetic, she thinks.

It is past midnight she knows. It’s Christmas Eve, December twenty fourth, and she’s huddled in a hall with other inmates and what she now has to accept are hostages and it’s shitty as fuck.

Taystee Jefferson surprises her when she comes up to her and says, “Hey, you alright?”

Alex nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She hopes the tone she uses gives Jefferson the message that she is no mood to chat.

Jefferson stands there, unsure of what to say next, before she says, “I’m sure she’s fine.”

Alex turns to her. “Who?”

Jefferson feels sheepish and awkward. “Um, Chapman. I’m sure she be alright and unhurt and probably hatching another scheme that hopefully doesn’t involve underwear or soap or whatever.”

Alex grins. “Yeah, I hope so.”

Jefferson grins back. “Yeah.” Alex waits for her to leave, but Jefferson traces a circle with her boot. “You really care for her, huh?”

Alex thinks about this, trying to figure out what Jefferson is getting at but Jefferson looks earnest. It’s more a statement than a confirmation really and she realizes, as Jefferson asks the question that she does. She smiles and says, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Jefferson nods. “She be really like your boo and stuff.”

“Yeah, she is.” Alex sighs.  “Piper is just my...everything.”

She remembers what she overheard Piper tell the jury before. Piper had bravely told them Alex was the love of her life. That she was her world. And nothing else mattered. She feels her stomach twist at the thought. This makes her smile. Jefferson doesn’t know know what to do or say next so she makes to turn and leave but then she stops and turns around.

 “Hey, Vause, thank you.”

“For what?” she asks.

Jefferson shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. They don’t usually talk. She and Vause didn’t have anything in common, except maybe Chapman and that’s only because Chapman is impossible to avoid in prison. Vause didn’t really socialize outside her circle. And even then, her circle was really small. Mostly it consisted of Piper. And Piper mostly. Jefferson says now, “For doing this. I know you don’t care, but it means a lot to us, you doing this.”

Alex is surprised, and for a second she is speechless. “Um, yeah, sure you’re welcome.”

Jefferson nods and leaves.

But then Alex calls after her, “Oh, hey, um, Jefferson...”

Jefferson turns around, looks at her expectantly.

“It’s not that I don’t care,” here, Alex stops, hesitates, searching for the right words, because Jefferson is looking at her pointedly, “Alright fine, I excel at not giving a shit most of the time, but it’s just...I’ve been in so much shit in the past, I really just want to stay out of trouble and get out of this place and start living again, you know?” she explains lamely. “I know it’s lame, but since I’ve been here, I feel like I’ve stopped living, you know? Like my life’s on hold or something and the only time it will start back up again is if I get out. I mean, half of the time in here I feel like I’m in hell, the other half of the time, I feel like I’m in some...insane, twisted social experiment”

Jefferson stares at her, head cocked to one side, listening intently, before she says, “Oh, yeah, that’s cool. I get it. I feel that, too. So yeah, I feel you.” When Alex nods, Jefferson asks, “You do know why we’re doing this yeah?”

“Yes, I do, and...and it’s not that I don’t want to be part of your...cause or something, it’s just that, honestly? I’m white and my experience isn’t the same as yours and I shouldn’t talk to them on your behalf,” Alex reasons out. “You should be able to speak out and talk about what you want and make things happen on your own terms, you know what I mean?”

Jefferson nods. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” She stays where she is, uncertain what to do or say next, before she says, “It’s just...This system’s rigged against black people, man. It’s rigged against anyone who isn’t white. Our fight is with a system that don’t give a damn about poor people and brown people and poor brown people.” Alex nods, encouraging her to go on. “You know, everyone I know is poor, or in jail or dead? When I got out the first time, thought I could make a fresh start, but man, I couldn’t get a job, I had nowhere to go, nowhere to sleep, nothing to eat, no friends, no family. I got nothin’.  Made me realize there was no life for me on the outside. I had no choice. I had to go back to prison. At least here, I had a place to sleep. I had food. I had shelter. I had friends. I had none of that on the outside.”

“Jefferson, I’m white and the system’s no good to me, too. I mean, sure, I was young and dumb as a fence post, but I didn’t get the same kind of head start rich white kids had, I was always behind, and with the life I started out with, I was always going to be behind. I was stupid to think that a life of crime would help me buy into all that American shit I was so long denied, that I could go after so many products and selfish goals and made up desires. This system is rigged for everyone,” Alex points out. “It’s fucked up, is what it is.”

“This is what’s wrong with the country. It’s spiritual life is gone and we’re all looking for ways to deal with the numbness,” Yoga Jones, quiet all this time, speaks up. “If there’s anything that years in prison has taught me, it’s that nobody knows what actually reforms people. We should just all sit down and breathe and meditate. If we focus on our breathing, find our rhythm, that could free the mind to think deep thoughts. It's like sweeping! Whoosh! Do you know where I'm coming from?”

Alex and Jefferson stare at her, before Jefferson says, “Jupiter?”

Yoga Jones stares back. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Alex grins as Jefferson and Yoga start to argue. Behind them, Alex sees Daya Diaz. Alex tries to smile at her, raises her eyebrows in question.

Diaz approaches her, hesitant. “Sorry, man, but...this isn’t going anywhere. I think I should just give myself up. Make it easier on everyone.”

“Sorry, what?”

Jefferson and Yoga Jones turn and look at Diaz. Diaz reddens, whether from shame or embarrassment Alex doesn’t know.

“I’m gonna give myself up, Vause, quit while we can, we’ve lost, no use fighting anymore, this is pretty pointless,” Diaz says, dejected, defeated. “I’m the one who shot the CO. I should take the heat for that.”

Before Alex could reply, Jefferson cuts in. “Yo, you can’t quit now. We’ve come this far, we’ve come so, so far, you quittin’ means this, all of this, will be for nothin’.”

“This isn’t anything now,” Diaz retorts. “We got nothin’. We’re going nowhere. We’ve been here since yesterday. And what do we have? The power and the heat and fucking pizza in exchange for a couple of COs! No offense Vause.”

“None taken,” Alex says.

Black Cindy Hayes and the others seem to have heard what Diaz has said, because suddenly everyone has gathered around and is talking about Diaz’s decision. Ruiz doesn’t want her to, Mendoza wants her, too, everyone else is divided. Some other inmates have brought up the idea of the older ones giving up (Chang, Norma, Big Boo, Red all shoot down this idea with an angry look), but at the end of it, all the inmates hit a stalemate with no solution or decision in sight. Everyone is tired and sleepy so Alex suggests everyone to get some rest first and figure it out in the morning.

“But we’ve come this far,” Alison Abdullah points out, dejected.

“Yeah, we might as well see how much further we can go,” Nicky Nichols adds.

Alex says, “Farther.”

“What?” Nicky asks.

“Farther, not further. Farther denotes distance, further means to a greater extent or degree, in the abstract sense,” Alex says absently.

Nicky looks at her blankly. “Whatever, Vause.”

“We should think this through seriously,” Red speaks up in her thick Russian accent. “We give up, we give up our leverage, our advantage, and no change will happen.”

“Yeah, she right,” Jefferson says. “I mean this isn’t just about what happened today. This is for everyone who’s ever been hurt or abused or fucked by this fucked up system that doesn’t care about us.”

“Yeah, if we’re going down, we’re going down fighting!” Nicky says, wicked glint in her eye.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Jefferson agrees.

Everyone starts to agree, murmurs of assent rippling through the group.

 _Fuck,_ Alex says. “Alright, alright, calm down, we’ve got to think this through. We need to figure this out. What do we really want? Our list of demands? I don’t think we can realistically see all of those being granted. We need to agree about what we want. And it has to be all or nothing. It can’t be just a few of us agreeing it’s what we want and we’ve got dissent among our ranks.”

The others nod in agreement.

“Amnesty,” Gloria Mendoza speaks up. “I don’t want no added sentence for this shit.”

The others agree.

“Alright,” Alex says, “And justice? Yes? We want justice for Washington, yeah?”

“Yeah, justice,” Jefferson echoes, her voice cracking and broken. “I guess at the end of the day, that’s what I want. Because Poussey didn’t have to die and she did and I’m as angry now as I was then because Bayley is a fucking dick for letting her die and Caputo is a fucking shit dick for not letting Bayley pay for he did.”

Everyone is silent as Jefferson says this.

Then Jefferson bursts out crying then.

Huge, big tears of grief and pain and loss.

She stands there sobbing and crying and everybody just stands around, not knowing what to do.

* * *

The lights are flickering and Piper Chapman is cold and hungry and is still disoriented and doesn’t know where she is. _Where is everybody_ , she wonders? Is it over? Has everyone surrendered? Has everyone been arrested? Has the SWAT team come barging in and controlled everyone? What’s going on?

She stands in the middle of the hallway, unsure.

Then she sees a tall man in a black suit, bullet proof vest, boots, high powered rifle, mask, step out of the shadows and flickering lights. Oh, thank god, she thinks to herself. She raises her hands, puts it high above her head and says, “Officer! Officer! Please don’t shoot. My name’s Piper Chapman and I’m an inmate here and I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m unarmed and I’m ready to surrender and believe me I had nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to do with the prison riot. If anything, I was actually trying to _avoid_ trouble and not _create_ it as some people would have you believe, in fact I...”

The tall man just stares at her, doesn’t say anything, so Piper wonders if he’s deaf or just can’t understand her underneath all that gear. But then suddenly, the rifle is trained on her, she steps back, and a voice from behind the mask gruffly says, “Move, _bitch_. Do anything stupid and you’re dead.”

It takes a while for Piper to realize what is happening before she realizes the man is not there to help her and then by then it’s too late to turn and run. As he grabs her arms and manhandles her away from the hall, kicking and struggling, his gloved hand on her mouth, she thinks, _Oh, shit, fuck, shit_.


	6. Chapter 6

 

The radio crackles to life. It jolts Alex awake. All the others are asleep, huddled together for warmth, guards on one side, inmates on the other. The inmates had originally wanted to huddle by race but all agreed they had better chances of making it through the night together. Alex had rolled her eyes at that. The world is falling apart anf everyone's discussing how to avert hypothermia.

"Vause, you there?" The voice on the other end says.

Fuck. She knows. Alex closes her eyes. She hesitates before grabbing the radio.

"How'd you know it was me?"

Spacey chuckles. "Merry Christmas, to you, too."

"Sorry."

"No worries. It was just simple math and deduction, man. Just checked who was still unaccounted for. For now it's you and...Piper Chapman..."

"Did you..."

"Yeah, about that..." Spacey begins. "Listen...we need to talk."

* * *

"Hostage?" Alex asks, heart pounding. "What do you mean she's been taken hostage?"

"I mean she's been taken hostage," Spacey patiently explains.

"Where is she?"

"I don't..."

"Where the fuck is she?"

Spacey hesitates, sighs before she says,"Toolshed. Out in the back. By the garden..."

"What does the guy who took her want?"

"I don't..."

"What does he or she want?"

"You, apparently. Preferably unarmed..."

Alex stops. Kubra. Of course. Sent an assassin to deal with her.

"So basically we have two hostage situations. And truth be told this is not good. I think we've been compromised."

" Compromised?" Alex hisses.

"Too many players with too many agendas. Governor, Mayor, MCC, Comissioner, the D.A. I can't even begin to tell you the shitstorm that's gonna happen if the full extent of this clusterfuck gets out..." She pauses to let this sink in. "And well, people don't like these kinds of things - bad for everyone, bad for publicity, bad for you..."

"Yeah, I get it."

There is a silence on the other end. Alex breaks the silence.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Truth?"

"Truth."

Spacey takes a deep breath. "There's no other way of saying this Vause, but...you need to give this up,"Spacey says. "I know, I know your fighting for something -justice, better prison conditions, whatever...but Vause, you and I know none of these things ever go down well. If you surrender now, we can cut our losses. It sucks, I know, but..."

"Yeah, you're absolutely right."

Spacey is surprised by Alex's response.

"We should probably surrender," Alex continues. "We should've probably done earlier...the longer we wait the worse it's gonna get..."

"Think you can convince the rest?"

"I could try..."

* * *

"Give up?" Taystee demands. "What the fuck, Vause?"

"In a few minutes or hours or however long it takes to break down those doors, they're gonna be here, they're gonna take us down, and it's not gonna be pretty. Best case scenario, we all get out of this safe and unhurt. Worst case scenario we stay here, make a stand and people get hurt. You've made your point. People are listening. Time to give up..."

"You aren't giving us a whole lotta options here man."

"We don't have much choice."

"They ain't givin in to our demands, are they?"

Alex sighs and shakes her head. "No."

Taystee closes her eyes.

"Sorry, man...we tried..."

There is silence as people look at each other. People start murmurring.

"I'm gonna contact Spacey now. You've got a few seconds to decide before they start storming in. After that, you're on your own...Decide now..."

"Where you goin'?!?"

"Gotta take care of something. Be back soon. If I'm not back soon, go without me..."

As she prepares to go, Taystee says, "Hey, Vause..."

"Yeah?" She asks impatiently.

"Merry Christmas."

Alex is surprised by this. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

* * *

Alex's heart is beating fast as she jogs to the back of the main building, each window illuminating her profile in the hallway, shoes squeaking against the empty, silent hallway. It's dark, floor littered with evidence of the riot.

All she can think of is Piper. All she can see in her mind's eye is Piper. All she can say in her head is Piper, Piper, Piper. How could she get Piper in trouble like this? She knows of course. It started when she asked her to be her drug mule. Started when she cared more about that than her. Started when she turned her in. Alex's heart races as she rushes to the field. She will never forgive herself if something happened to Piper. Never.

* * *

"Took you long enough," the man, tall, Middle Eastern, with a beard and a mustache, says. He is holding Piper in front of him, like a shield, gun on her head, as he looks at Alex.

"Yeah, I had to leave another hostage situation,"Alex says sarcastically. She tries to control herself at the sight of Piper - there is a mixture of relief and fear at seeing Piper, knowing she's still in danger.  An explosion interrupts them. Alex waits for a beat before saying, "Well, there goes that one..."

"Seems trouble follows you everywhere," the man comments.

"Seems you won't leave me alone."

"That's 'cause you turned on us, Vause, and you know what we do to snakes..."

Alex doesn't need to be reminded. She knows of the moles and turncoats who were beaten up, had limbs severed and for the more egregious offenders, death by slow and excruciating torture, bodies cut up to unrecognizable pieces and thrown in places they could never be discovered - not for a few years anyway. Her heart quickens, seeing Piper alive but frightened, fate uncertain, fate to be determined ay Kubra's henchmen's hands. She vaguely remembers this man, cannot remember the name, but knows he is one of Kubra's henchmen.

"I know perfectly well what you do to people who betray Kubra, but Piper has nothing to do with any of this, it's me you want, let her go,"Alex says calmly.

"You are in no position to bargain, Vause," the man points out. "Besides, we know how this precious, little girlfriend of yours is special to you...why go for the kill when you can go for the pain?"

"She's not my girlfriend,"Alex says.

Despite Piper's fear, she glares at Alex with a hurt "WTF,Alex?"look on her face.

The man is momentarily confused, but quickly recovers. "Oh? Were our sources are wrong? This one is the only one you spend the most time with. She was your girlfriend on the outside, too, no? How did you refer to her? I think you called her 'The Love Of Your Life'."

Piper looks at Alex then. Alex avoids her gaze, desperately trying to find a way out. She could attack and disarm the man, go on the offensive, but she could get Piper hurt. The man has a gun and she has nothing. A quick survey of the toolshed wields nothing, too, except a rake, a shovel, some pots and soil.

"But can't be the love of your life if you named her and had her thrown in jail."

Alex shrugs. "What can I say? I'm an asshole. Hit 'em where it hurts the most." She looks squarely at the man. "What do you want?"

"Your dead body, basically," the man answers.

"Isn't that a little redundant?" Alex asks.

The man stops. There is a confused look on his face. He takes the gun away from Piper's head and asks, "What?"

That is all Alex needs. She quickly grabs a pot and throws it with all her might at the man. Piper's eyes widen before she ducks and dives for the ground. Alex grabs another pot and throws it at the man as she motions for Piper and shouts her name. The man's gun flies away.

"I can't believe you told him I'm not your girlfriend,"Piper says as Alex dives for the gun.

"Not right now,babe,"Alex says as the man dives for the gun, too and they wrestle on the ground.

They roll around on the ground for a few seconds, Alex keeping a firm grip on the gun as the man claws and tries to knee her and hit her.

She finally wrestles the gun away and shouts, "Hands above your head!" as she slowly gets up.

She takes a step back, heart beating fast, stomach and head throbbing where the man hit her, limbs feeling like jell-o, hands trembling as she grips the gun. The man slowly gets up, hands above his head.

"Alex..." Piper starts to say.

"Pipes, yes, I love you, you're the love of my life, but can you please shut up and get behind me? I don't want you getting hurt."

"Well,aren't you sweet?"a voice on the side says.

They all turn and it is Piscatella, with two guns pointed at both them and the man.

"Hello, Vause,Chapman,"Piscatella says with a smirk and a mad glint in his eye. "Nice party you got going here..."

"Piscatella..."Vause says.

"What do we got here?"

"This man is trying to kill me,"Vause says.

"Oh?" Piscatella asks, seemingly unconcerned. "Seems to me like you're the one trying to kill someone, inmate. Put the gun down, inmate."

"What?" Alex and Piper ask at the same time.

"Now, inmate."

Alex hesitates, but then Piscatella aims his gun at her. Alex grits her teeth. Fucking Piscatella. She raises a hand, palm up and with the other,  slowly puts the gun down on the ground. "You have no fucking idea what you're doing."

"Shut up, inmate!" Piscatella says. He then says, "Thought you had this  under control."

Alex and Piper wonder what he is talking about but then Piscatella turns to the man. A sinking feeling starts to settle in Alex's gut.

"No fucking way,"Piper whispers as Piscatella says, "In and out, take the inmate out, that was the fucking deal."

"Got a little sidetracked with your fucking riot," the man says. "You can't control your prison, Piscatella. This ain't worth what we paid you for."

"You want your fucking money back?"Piscatella asks, but his question sounds threatening.

Piper's eyes widen as Alex calmly looks from one to the other. Figures, she thinks. She gently pushes Piper behind her, instinctively shielding her with her own body. She can feel something's going to happen and she doesn't want Piper in the line of fire. She can hear Piper murmuring her protests, but Alex ignores it, motions for her to keep quiet.

Piscatella glares at him, trains the gun on him.

"I think I've heard enough from you two douchebag assholes," a voice from behind them says and they all turn to see a woman in a bullet proof vest, the large words "SWAT" on her chest, gun trained at Piscatella. "Put your guns down, both of you."

Piscatella gives her a devilish, defiant grin. "Why, are ya gonna make me, officer?"

Spacey aims the gun at him, hands steady, breath calm, expression cool and neutral. "I'm not gonna ask again, Piscatella."

Piscatella just smirks as Spacey begins to recite the Miranda rights to him. Shouts outside, the distant sound of what seems like a gunshot is fired, momentarily distracting all of them.  Piscatella fires his gun. The man behind them fires his, aiming at Alex. Alex tries to duck, pushes Piper back.Piper screams. "Alex!" "Get down,Pipes!"

All hell breaks lose. More gunshots. Screams. Shouts.

Then nothing.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

There are things  Alex has learned - and needed to learn - that were not taught in school. Teachers and adults don't tell you these things. They knew about these things. They just won't tell you. You find out yourself or through friends.

There are things she learned when she hit puberty and things she learned after.

One of these was that people are awful. She remembers being made fun of for being fatherless, for being poor, for only being able to afford shoes from Payless.

Crime. She learned at an early age to take money out of purses. To get into and out of buildings she wasn't supposed to - locked schoolbuildings, locked warehouses, locked second floor bedrooms of girlfriends forbidden from seeing her by homophobic parents.

She learned that no matter what her mother said, she could, sometimes get away with it - and she doesn't always get caught.

She learned to lie if she did get caught, because they would believe her. And if they didn't believe her, she could lie and say she didn't know what she was doing. Sometimds they believed that. Sometimes they didn't. And if they didn't, sometimes the punishment isn't nearly as bad as they say it would be. And if she was going to suffer the consequences, she might as well do some things worth the trouble.

Crying was good. That broke their hearts.

God. No matter what they say, sometimes God isn't always watching. Sometimes God doesn't hear you. Sometimes He does.

Power. Might is not right, but the big kids always rules the neighborhood. When she got bigger and taller than the other kids, they stopped bullying her, too.

Skills. She learned how to play poker to win, learned how to sneak out of the house to make out with a girlfriend, or sneak into a girlfriend's house to make out with her, how to drive the car up and down the road when her mom wasn't home.

Sex. She learned at an early age that she liked girls. That girls were hot. Sexy. And that being with them was terrifying ecstacy. That if she could make them happy, they go crazy, that she could control them.

Love. She learned she could use it to manipulate people. Use them. She learned that love can make you do things you don't normally do. And make you do things you never realized you _could_ do.

Death. Not only did she realize that things could die, but that she could kill them - bugs, spiders, snakes, frogs. Old people died. Young people didn't.

She remembers all of these now as the first bullet hits her and the second one hits Piper and jerks her back.

She watches as if in slow motion and realizes how close death is.

As she screams Piper's name, she feels herself fighting against losing consciousness, and in her mind's eye, all she can see is Piper. Piper the first time she sees her - all macrame and beatnik dresses and blonde hair and that nice smile. Piper dancing. Piper kissing her. Piper moving beneath her, holding her, clinging to her. Piper hugging her. Piper just looking at her, smiling. All the images run together like a video that's gone wrong, New York mixed with Thailand and France and Belgium and Litchfield and all the places in between. She wishes she had more time. More time to tell Piper she loved her. That she wasn't wrong. That she did want the house and the picket fence and the car. That she wanted to marry her. This last realization surprises her.

She doesn't feel the pain, she feels that later, she feels something else - remorse, love, fear, regret.  She wishes she knew then what she knew now. Love sucks but it can be beautiful. Love is pain but with the right person it could be worth it. Love is everything. In the brink of death she realizes, Piper is everything. Her everything.

* * *

Alex opens her eyes, blinks and it's dark and musty, she could taste it - and she sees Piper offering her a can and asking her "Will you marry me?"

The scene suddenly changes and she sees Crazy Eyes infront of a television flicking through channels. The screen is big, she could see Nicky dressed as a dog, Frieda dressed as a magician, Red dressed as a clown, Black Cindy dressed as a 40s gangster, in black and white and Piper as a contestant in "Jeopardy" answering every Alex Trebeck question with "Where is Alex?!?"

Alex finds herself in a long, empty, bright hallway at the end of which she can see a bright, blinding light.

She tries to walk towards it but there are multiple faceless voices, speaking around her, all the voices sounding like Piper, echoing, saying the same thing over and over again. "Where is Alex? Where is Alex? Where is Alex?"

* * *

With a jolt, Alex opens her eyes.

"Easy there Tiger," a raspy, familiar voice says. "You got yourself pretty banged up back there."

She squints. "Nicky?"

"And Lorna,"Lorna quips.

"What are you guys doing here?" She asks, groggy and in pain.

"Meds are wearing off, so you're gonna feel a lotta pain,"Nicky says. "You were the real hero back there. Throwing yourself in the line of fire. Taking a bullet for Chapman? Now I'm no expert but I'm guessing you've just got yourself a get out of jail lifetime card with that one...and maybe a lifetime's supply of you'll always get laid..."

"What are you talking about...? Ow..."Alex groans. She looks down and sees that she has a cast on her left arm. She also feels like she's just either run a marathon or someone has beaten her up pretty badly. "Where's Piper?"

"Oh my god, you guys sound like a broken record,"Nicky says. She takes a step back, draws the curtain back and reveals an unconscious Piper.

"Is she okay?" Alex asks, worried.

Nicky rolls her eyes. "Yeah, she's okay. Grazed by the bullet you took for her. She wouldn't shut up apparently all the way to the hospital. Says she won't go unless she can go with you. She told me to tell you that when you wake up she needs to talk to you, pronto."

"So, it's over? What happened to the riot?"

"Piscatella's dead." Before Alex can ask anymore questions, Nicky holds up a hand, "Not by your hand, thank god. That guy sent to kill you shot him. Piscatella shot the guy, too, so there's that. Whole place's up in chaos over what happened - over that guy bribing Piscatella,over you guys almost getting killed, helps that you're both white and that assassin guy isn't so the general public's even more pissed than usual,they're pissed over Piscatella and the other guards abusing the inmates, Washington dying on his watch, Bayley going unpunished, oh and get this, her body just lying there? NCAAP had a field day. Helps that there's videos of the whole thing. Mendez? Humphrey? Didn't get away. Coates - oh, Coates, man, didn't know he was a registered sex offender. He had a case of sexual assault in his previous job. Oh, even Caputo and Figueroa were didn't get away from it all. Yeah, and there's been some trouble over at Max, too. You can imagine how the Federal Bureau of Corrections, the MCC, the mayor and the governor were none too happy about all that. It's a nightmare for the uniforms and VIPs I bet. Anyway, we were supposed to be moved all to Max but that's stupid since we shouldn't be in there with 'em hardened criminals - they just got some back-to-back sister-on-sister cellblock murders there that they need to take care of so we're back at Litchfield Minimum, with a shiny, new set of guards that aren't any better than the old ones. Litchfield's overflowing and filled to capacity and with all the crap the higher ups are getting I'm guessing some of us are gonna be let go soon...I'm guessing Chapman's gonna be one of 'em. She's only got a few months left on her sentence. We're all not off the hook or out of the woods yet...Diaz still shot a guard, Ruiz did all that shit to the guards, there's all that destruction of property and shit and there's gonna be a full investigation and we're still gonna probably get in deep shit but yeah...And oh yeah, Luschek is teaching physical fitness now."

"Wow, so much has happened since  I went under."

"Yeah, also, people are pretty pissed they did nothing when people tried to kill you...I mean hello? Witness Protection amirite?"

"How is Piper? Is she gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, she might be asking you something important soon, so we're gonna skedaddle, visiting hours are over, things are still hot so they can let the inmates get what they want, but once things cool down...anyway,  I need to go. By the way, when she asks you whatever she wants to ask you? Maybe just say yes, put all of us out of our misery. And make her stop talking about kickball for fuck's sakes. I don't fucking know why she wants everyone to do kickball." She ends this with a smirk. "Later, Vause."

* * *

Alex stares at Piper.

She looks pretty sleeping. Angelic. Even with all the bruising and cuts and the gunshot wound to the shoulder. She'd just been looking at her the past few minutes, relieved she's okay.

Piper stirs, slowly opens her eyes.

"Hey,"Alex whispers.

Piper doesn't say anything at first but then she whispers back, "Hey." Before Alex can say anything else, Piper leans over and tries to kiss her.

Alex leans back and jokes, "So I got hit on the head? and I think I have amnesia? So I'm not really sure who you are..."

Piper grins. "Let me jog your memory," she says, leaning over and kissing her. "My name's Piper. I'm your girlfriend."

She kisses her again.

"I'm gay?" Alex asks jokingly. Piper just rolls her eyes and kisses her again. "Yup, definitely gay."

Piper smiles and hugs her. "I thought something bad happened to you. Like you were dead or dying or in a coma..."she almost chokes, stops, tears forming in her eyes.

"Aww, babe, you know it's gonna take more than a bullet through the shoulder to kill me," Alex says as she hugs Piper and kisses her on the head.

Piper winces.

"You okay?"Alex asks, noticing her wincing.

Piper nods. "A bit banged up but I'm okay. You?"

"Bullet through the shoulder, like I said. Hurts like hell. Can't sleep well at night but I'll live. I'm told I get to have unlimited access to sexual favors from my girlfriend because I took a bullet for her."

Piper grins and kisses her again. Then she pulls back and says, "But first..."and she hands Alex a can of beans.

"A can of beans?"

"Just pretend it's corn it's a long story." Piper takes a deep breath. "You have taught me that love hurts. You have taught me that life..."here she sighs, and winces as much from the pain as from the realization, "It hurts...and I wanna be there for you...I want us to be there for each other. So that maybe it hurts a little less." She leans closer, draws a deep breath and says, "Alex Pearl Vause..."

Alex gives her a funny look. "Yes, Piper Elizabeth Chapman?" She responds a little sarcastically.

"Will you be my partner through love and through pain and through beauty fish forever?"

"Is that your question?"

Piper pauses, confused. She continues. "Alex will you marry me?"

"I figured that's what you were doing," Alex says with a smile. She waits for a beat and says, "Yes."

The smile on Piper's face is indescribable. She kisses Alex.

"You have to do this now?"Alex asks. "Then again timing was never one of our strongest suits."

"I'm kinda glad that I did,"Piper says, "And you did say yes."

"That's what I did,"Alex says with a grin as she leans over for  another kiss.

* * *

As Nicky predicted due to overcrowding and the controversies swirling around Litchfield, they let inmates like Piper go.

 Alex throws Piper a surprise wedding in the hospital chapel when she finds out. It is a simple, quiet affair.

She takes advantage of the controversy and the fact that she and Piper are still both in the hospital, to get married. Unknown to Piper, she asks Luschek, Nicky and Lorna's help. She gets Nicky certified, has Luschek bring them to the hospital and without Piper knowing, one fine day, she surprises Piper with a wedding.

"I can't believe you did all this,"Piper says.

"Like you would let me live it down if we didn't get prison married."

"Shall we begin? Tempes Fugit," Nicky, clad in a homemade tallit and kippah, says.

After a false start of  Nicky making a joke and Lorna providing them their something old, new, borrowed and blue: a toothbrush that had been turned into a shiv, Alex surprises Piper even more by when they exchange vows.

"It's hard to know a promise I can make to you that won't sound like a bunch of clichés that people say at weddings," Alex begins. "So I wanted to make a promise that fits us, considering the distance that we covered to get here and how far we'll have to go before we can be together again. But to do that, I have to talk about something that's uncomfortable to bring up. There was a time that I hurt you and I did something unforgivable. And I don't think that I can express in words the guilt and regret that I feel for having done that to you, the person that I care about most. So my promise is to make it up to you every day in small, quiet ways for the rest of our life together."

Piper responds to her vow by saying, "I want you to promise me that you'll get out of here. I need you. You're my partner. Get out of here as soon as you possibly can so that I can be with you."

"Okay...but that's more a demand than a vow..."

"OK, then my vow is to wait for you," Piper replies.

They exchange rings - using Luschek's keychain key ring and a contraband paperclip Nicky found in a library book.

The wedding is a simple, quiet affair, but Alex  is happy and she's happy that she's made Piper happy and that's all that matters.

After the wedding, Piper asks, "What happens now?"

"We wait. The Vause-Chapmans will just have to deal with whatever happens, head on."

Piper nods and squeezes her hand. "Okay."

"Okay."

 


End file.
